


Just Like That

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 17:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: After the battle with Thanos, Tony goes home to find Steve.





	Just Like That

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _The Avengers_ , _Iron Man_ , and _Captain America_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for language, violence)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Have some obligatory post-IW Stony feels/angst/hurt/comfort :-). The movie left me so excited to see these two get back together, so I jumped the gun. Those little hints of what they were feeling for each other were just too good to resist!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Just like that, everything ends.

And just like that, Tony’s alone.

Peter vanishes like he was never there at all.  Peter and Quill and Strange.  The big, gray guy and the weird alien girl with the antennae.  Just like that, they’re gone.

Half the universe is _gone._

Tony collapses, chokes on the blood in his mouth, and cries.

* * *

Of course, he’s been alone before.  Since Siberia, since the Avengers came apart at the seams, he’s lived in a strange solitude.  It’s strange because he’s had a lot of people around him.  Pepper and Stark Industries folks and the government.  The media and their ever-constant aggravation.  Happy.  Vision, who’s listless and melancholic and who hasn’t been the same since Germany and not simply because he’s evolving into something more human.  Peter, who follows Tony like an adoring puppy and who Tony knows could be something so good for him if he can just stop keeping him at arm’s length.  Ross, that two-timing bastard.  Rhodey, who’s drifted more and more away from the stance he once had, and that’s okay.  Tony’s drifted from it, too.  Convictions that held so firm in the face of conflict waver in retrospect.  And it’s not that either of them has doubted their opinions; oversight is _still_ a good thing, when the oversight’s handled by good people.  That’s still something worth having.

But the cost has become way higher than either of them ever wanted to pay.

Which leads into the solitude thing.  He’s had people in his life and things to keep him busy and roles to fulfill.  He’s leading the Avengers, or what’s left of them.  He’s building himself new and better armors, ones with powers that amaze even him sometimes.  Bleeding Edge.  And he’s defending earth, just the way he wanted, the way he _needed_ to.

Only it’s half a team, half of everything it should be.  A body with no heart, because Steve Rogers took all the heart with him when he walked away.

And he left Tony alone.  Tony hates being alone, so he carries that damn flip phone, that archaic, stupid, cheap piece of shit, with him everywhere.  He keeps it charged, keeps it close.  He tells himself that he does it because he’s responsible.  He and Steve had the most painful falling-out that he’s ever had with anyone (and, God, it _kills him_ , what happened between them, the betrayal of Barnes murdering his parents and the lengths to which Steve went to protect that bastard and the lies Steve told, lies of omission, maybe, but _lies,_ and the betrayals Tony had lobbed at Steve, too, not listening to him and not respecting him and belittling him and – _Jesus, how did it get so out of control_ – trying to _murder_ Steve and Barnes both because he wanted to hurt Steve so badly and he hurt so badly himself that he just lost it and lashed out and _he should know better_ ).  It’s all over and done with, can’t be changed, but it still feels like a fresh wound.  It’s like picking a scab every time he has to charge that damn phone in case Steve calls.  Every time he pulls it out of his pocket, stares at its tiny, outdated LCD screen, opens it and finds one number in the contact list with _“Steve Rogers”_ next to it like an absolution and a condemnation all at once…  Every time he so much as thinks about it, it brings it all back.  The pain in Steve’s eyes.  The blood on his face.  The anger that entirely consumed Tony’s heart and soul and blackened it.  That phone is a symbol of everything that’s been ruined.

But he carries it around, like so many other burdens.  Like so many other scars that don’t heal.  He should have called.  He should have called so many damn times.  But he didn’t, couldn’t make himself, _never_ did, and now he’s here, lightyears away from home and bleeding out into the ash.

The blue android, alien, whatever she is…  She says she can get them off this planet.  Her name’s Nebula, and she seems like more of a problem than a solution.  But, then again, hasn’t Tony been the same sometimes?  He’s not sure if he should trust her, but it’s not like he has a choice.  He’s hurt pretty bad.  He sealed the hole in his side where Thanos stabbed him with his own sword, but he’s bleeding internally.  He has no suit, no Iron Man, no tech to protect him.  _Nothing._   They’re in the middle of a destroyed planet, alone in the wreckage.  He has to trust what he has left.

That’s her.  And she’s odd.  She doesn’t mourn, at least that he can tell.  This Gamora person clearly meant something to her (she’d meant _a lot_ to Quill and the others), but Nebula doesn’t cry or even seem to care.  No grief.  Just hate.  He gets the feeling that’s how she normally operates.  He’s not sure what her role in this whole fiasco was; obviously she’s Thanos’ daughter, but this “family” seems to be the epitome of dysfunctional.  Daughters forced into murderous service.  Children made through abduction, torture, and murder.  Thanos sure has a flair for the over-dramatic.

So did Quill.  And so does he, he thinks as he swallows the coppery bitterness of blood.  He can’t fault Quill for lashing out in a fit of rage and hitting Thanos and ruining their one chance of winning this.  He wants to, but he can’t, because he did the same once.  He did the same and ruined _everything_.

Anyway, he doesn’t have a choice but to let her figure out what to do.  He’s feverish and in so much pain as she hauls him to the most intact of the massive ships in this equally massive graveyard of a past civilization.  Tony blinks tears from his eyes and wonders if this is what earth will look like when he gets home.  He doesn’t want to think about that, so he lets himself drift as she drags him inside the ship and works on getting it functional.  He lays against filthy metal and bleeds and dreams.  His slumber is light and fitful.  He hasn’t slept well in years, frankly, so this is just more of the same.  And he’s failed.  _Again,_ he’s failed.  That hurts more than the bruises and welts all over him, than the hole in his side, than whatever damage he has inside that’s slowly killing him.  Depression’s been sinking into him slowly since the end, since losing Peter and Strange and the others.  Not just that this happened – _half the universe is gone_ – but that it happened because _he_ failed.

Silently he weeps.  Nebula works without pause, wiring the damaged cockpit controls, fighting to get power to the spacecraft again after so many years spent a heap of useless junk.  She doesn’t seem the type to care about anyone else’s weakness or suffering, but she does notice.  Notices and ignores it.  “Your friends…  You have more of them back on earth?”

 _Friends back on earth._   Tony swallows down the constant taste of blood and tears.  “Yeah,” he manages, his voice nothing more than a weak, pained croak.  “Yeah, if they survived.”

Nebula has not an ounce of compassion in her weird, black gaze.  She considers that a moment, wrestling with the two huge arms that control the ship.  They’re way too big for her; she’s such a vicious, violent force, but she’s tiny, really, and he doesn’t know how she packs all that rage and power into such a petite body.  Still, she manages, yanking the arms closer.  “Then that’s where we’re going.”

Power hums to life.  The ship rattles beneath Tony, and he jerks in pain and shock.  There’s light inside the cockpit.  It’s dim, but to him it feels blinding.  “Why?” he manages.

“Because we need to survive,” she responds as if that should be obvious.  “We can’t do that here.  And I can’t stop until Thanos is dead, now more than ever.”  He’s tempted to ask what the point is, but before he can, she’s wrestling with the ship’s controls.  It’s hard for her.  She’s trembling with effort, gritting her teeth, but she looks over her shoulder at him where he lays in a useless, quivering lump.  “Will your friends fight?”

Tony has no idea.

No – no.  No, he does.  “Yes,” he whispers.

Nebula needs no more answer than that.  She fires up the engines.  The whole ships rattles and quakes like it’s about to fall apart.  Debris falls from the ceiling, and Tony twists weakly to avoid being struck when it slams into the deck beside him.  He watches, panic dashing the haze of pain and blood loss, as the ship ascends, rising far above the ground.  The mountains of rock and debris are getting smaller and smaller.  The place where everything fell apart.  It’s falling away below him.

He slumps.  Licks his lips and tastes more blood and tears.  Stares into the darkness overhead as the deck rocks and tips beneath him.  _We’re going home._   If there’s a home to go to.  If there’s anyone there who can help.  If the Avengers are still…

 _No._   He doesn’t let himself think that.  People call him a pragmatist, a futurist, and he knows he can be a pessimist, but he has moments where he lets himself believe.  This is one of them.  The pain’s too harsh, and he’s so alone, and he lets himself dream.

_Steve will be there.  And he’ll know what to do._

* * *

Tony’s such a goddamn hypocrite.

And he hates himself sometimes.  He really does.  He’s always had issues with it.  Other people don’t see it because he’s become damn proficient at hiding.  He has masks for every occasion.  The narcissistic asshole.  The rich playboy.  The cunning inventor.  The standoffish defender.  The amazing futurist.

Iron Man.

He has so many masks and he’s so good at using them that even he doesn’t know himself sometimes.  It’s been a lifetime of masquerading, after all.  Masking his pain when his father pushed him aside for his latest invention or the government or SHIELD or Captain America.  Masking his grief when his father died, when his mother died.  Masking his disappointment when Fury didn’t want him for the Avengers Initiative.  Masking just how worried he was about fitting in with the others when the team formed.  Masking just how _afraid_ he was when Wanda showed him the future, showed him the team dead, showed him Steve dying.

Masking just how much he’s wanted Steve since he met him.

And he’s wanted him.  For all the fighting they’ve done, the arguing and debating and bickering…  For all the times they haven’t seen eye to eye, for all the differences between them (and there are countless, an insuperable barrier of them perhaps), for all the ways they clash and contradict and conflict with each other…  Tony wants Steve like he hasn’t wanted much else in his life.  Steve’s special, far more than the legend and the symbol and the stories Howard used to tell him.  He’s not the lies Tony has made himself believe his whole life, that Captain America was stupid propaganda or an overly self-righteous bastard or a mindless tool of the government.  Steve’s just…  Well, somewhere between a plaza in Stuttgart and here, in a dilapidated piece of crap spaceship hurtling through the cosmos, Steve’s become _Steve._

Somewhere along there, too, Tony’s fallen in love him.  It seems crazy, contradictory, incomprehensible, but it’s true, and Tony can’t tell himself otherwise anymore.  He loves Steve.  He loves how smart Steve is, how capable, how strong and brave and confident.  How much he inspires everyone to be better, including Tony himself.  Tony loves Steve’s sassy, dark sense of humor that peeks out sometimes from beneath the solemn seriousness.  He loves Steve’s tactical thinking, his eye for detail, his way of commanding respect from people who don’t even know him.  He loves Steve’s bright blue eyes, as clear and endless as the sky on a cloudless day, and Steve’s strong hands, hands that wrought so much _good,_ and Steve’s pink lips, moving around the words he says, always the right words spoken with a voice that makes Tony’s world shift every time he hears it.  Steve’s perfect body, toned and muscular and Tony’s dreamed far more than he should about that, about how it would feel to touch it and know it.  He’s dreamed, and he’s treasured those couple of years where the Avengers were a team like nothing else he’s ever known, because he was working with Steve, talking with Steve, fighting and standing at Steve’s side.  He had a team, a family even, and Steve was at its center, its core, its soul, a sun around which the rest of them were in orbit.  They worked together, all of them, and that was because of Steve.  Steve became their leader, and just like that, they were the Avengers.

Maybe they still would be if Tony told Steve any of this instead of constantly baiting and poking fun and being a nuisance.  All the chances they had…  Late nights working together.  The occasional dinner the team shared.  The few times they talked and laughed like friends and Tony melted inside with just how _good_ it felt.  After DC.  God, he can still remember his horror when he got down to the hospital in Virginia with Banner, when he saw Steve hooked up to all those machines in the ICU.  If he said something then instead of running back up to New York and leaving Steve with Romanoff and Wilson…  If he ever _said_ something.

But he never did.  It’s a problem he has, being honest.  A really bad problem.  He lies and jokes and uses sarcasm like a shield.  He runs from his issues.  He pushes away the people who mean the most to him.  He hurts them invariably and inevitably, because he’s just too damn weak and cowardly to face how he feels and how vulnerable his feelings make him.  He can’t hide from those anymore, not with Steve.  Furthermore, his masks aren’t good enough.  His armor, his money, his tech…  _None_ of that can make him the person he needs to be to love someone like Steve.  Therefore, he’s never said a thing, so Steve has no idea what his heart really holds.  Steve’s not his lover.  Steve’s hardly even his friend.  After what Tony did, he may never be anything more an enemy.  Can he really blame Steve for choosing Barnes over him when he’s never once given him any indication that he needs him?

That’s the twisted thing, though.  He does blame Steve, and part of him hates Steve, too, hates him for not reading his goddamn mind like there was ever any chance Steve could.  He blames Steve for not valuing their relationship as much as Steve’s own goddamn principles.  He blames Steve for not telling _him_ the truth, for protecting his own feelings (which is ironic as hell because all Tony’s ever done is the same thing – protect himself when he should be forthcoming.  Ultron is case in point).  They can’t freaking talk to each other.  He hates them both for that, for the ruin their fighting has done to them and everyone around them.

And he hates himself for the fact that he can’t even be honest _now_ , years removed from that awful fight in Siberia.  _We’re not on speaking terms._  What a bunch of bullshit.  They’re not speaking, that’s true, but not because Tony hasn’t wanted to.  That damn flip phone.  How many times has he held in his hands, opened it, closed it, typed a text in there only to delete it.  Texting is easier than calling, right?  He doesn’t have to see Steve, hear his voice, dread the anger or condemnation or refusal he fears so much.  He told himself to just do it over and over again, wrote things over and over again.  Texts like: _can I call you?_   Like: _I need to talk.  No, world’s not ending.  Just need to talk._   And like: _I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  Please call._   And like: _you hurt me so much.  I need you to tell me why again.  I need you to make it make sense._

He never sent any of them.  His pride and pain were too strong at the time, and they overcame his guilt and his shame and his love for what he’s lost.  The Avengers.  Steve.  All lost, because he can’t be honest. Because he can’t be the good man he’s wanted to be.  It’s screwed up, the sad fact that the people he loves the most are the ones he hurts the worst.

That puts Steve right at the top of his list.

This screwed up situation is killing him, has been killing him for years.  It seems like such a slow, painful death.  And it’s led to this.  To here and now, with the universe vast and empty by half.  To this ship that’s going so fast it’s shaking apart and the thick blood Tony can taste in the back of his throat and the cold creeping along his skin and the darkness constantly threatening his vision.  To the dreams he wants to have again, the same ones he’s let himself have far too many times over the last two years.  Steve’s eyes on his and Steve’s hands on him and Steve’s body close.  Steve’s lips in his hair, on his skin, on his mouth in a kiss.  Tony doesn’t let himself even consider that Steve, by the cruel randomness of fate, ended up in the half that was erased from existence.  He can’t.

Steve will be there.  Tony will get to see him again.

If he’s makes it back, that is.  If he’s still alive when he gets there.

* * *

He is.  He’s walking wounded, barely walking at all in fact, as Nebula sets their battered ship down on a grassy plain someplace that looks like…  Africa?  She claims there’s a signal coming from here, from out in the middle of nowhere essentially, just mountains and copses of jungle amidst the rolling grasses.  As the rear hatch of the ship descends, Tony blinks the haze of delirium from his eyes and sees the rolling hills are gouged and ruined with war.  The land is scarred, scorched earth and decimated woods, and there are corpses everywhere.  Hideous beasts.  Men in tribal gear with advanced weapons laying near their fingers.  All dead, and behind them, there’s wreckage of ships – _Thanos’ ships_ – from where his legions invaded.

It seems they came here for the Mind Stone, and they won.

It’s almost too much to bear, to see the ruin of their world around him.  But he blinks back his tears and walks, stumbling and staggering, to the city he can see up the hill a bit.  It’s huge, silvery towers glistening in the bright daylight, and he can’t make heads or tails of what it is or where they are.  All he knows is earth is eerily quiet.  The echoes of that strange, ominous thunder are long gone, but the silence that’s taken their place is damning.

With Nebula’s help, he makes it to the city.  Every step is difficult.  He didn’t realize how weak and sick he became on the trip home until now.  He doesn’t even know how long the trip lasted.  Days?  Weeks?  Everything is a blur of blood, ash, and nightmares.  He’s numb now, he’s discovering, because the pain’s not as bad even, though the rational part of his brain knows he’s still bleeding inside and that much closer to death.  He’s numb, made himself numb, because he has to walk, because he has to find someone.  He has to find someone to help him find Steve.

If there is where the fight to save earth happened, Steve will be here, sure as the sun beating down on them.

The city is despondent, baking in the still, hot air.  There isn’t a breath of wind.  The quiet is even worse, because there’s _supposed_ to be noise here.  There’s supposed to be activity, the daily hustle and bustle.  Tony doesn’t know where this is, but he knows that about cities.  There’s supposed to be life, and that’s what he needs to protect.  What the Avengers are there to protect.  And it’s gone.  The streets are empty.  The market squares and buildings are quiet.  This is a ghost town, and the silence is a pall, one that’s suffocating and grossly upsetting, deeply unsettling, very, very _wrong_ at the core of it, as if this can’t be real _._ It’s not real.  This isn’t earth.  Tony must still be on the ship.  He’s having nightmares, hallucinating, sick with because he’s hurt so badly.  He has to be seeing things, because this is impossible.  This isn’t home!

 _Just like that._   Thanos changed the universe.  Just like that, he turned life into _this._

Tony walks on.  What choice is there?  Nebula’s dragging him anyway, grunting in annoyance with every difficult step.  He ignores her, lets the press of unconsciousness dim his senses.  Instead, he thinks.  Wonders.  How does it work?  His unhinged thoughts spin wildly with despair.  Did the population get halved everywhere equally?  Was it truly random?  For each of the seven and half billion people on earth, for example, was there a binary decision?  True or false?  One or zero?  Or have some cities been spared in their entirety?  Some countries?  Some continents?  While others were completely emptied?  Was there luck or fate involved?  What is the mechanism of decimation?  Of genocide?  Is it predetermined?

Does it matter?

They stagger along.  Seconds stretch toward eternity, and Tony fades.  No one comes to help them.  No one.  Eventually they reach another larger square and Tony can hear…  _Voices._

_Thank God._

“Stay here,” Nebula orders crossly as she drops Tony on the side of the road.  He lands with a voiceless cry, and everything darkens and blurs as he suffers.  There’s a sharp pain, and his side feels wet again.  The wound’s split open.  He can’t stop a sob, clutching fingers into his side like that can keep the blood in, his other hand clawing uselessly in the dust and ash.  _I failed.  Just take me, too._

“Tony?”

He pries open gummy, aching eyes and sees a blurry figure looming over him.  The harsh sun blasts around the shadowy form, and blonde hair, so pale it’s nearly platinum, glows in it.  The features, pink lips and green eyes and a pert nose, don’t coalesce into a face for a long moment, and Tony just blinks and blinks and stares.

“Tony, God…  Tony!”

There’s a blur of motion, a roar of noise, and people are coming.  Tony keeps blinking, because he needs to focus but he can’t.  The blurry shadow with the blonde hair leaning over him…  Finally his brain puts it together.  _Natasha Romanoff._   She’s alright.  She’s holding his arms, holding him steady, trying to stop him as he clamors upward, as he plants his bloody hand into the dirt and pushes himself to his feet.  She’s here.  She’s okay.  She’s here.

And she was with Steve.

“Tony, take it easy!  How…  Wait, wait…  Stark!”

Tony doesn’t wait.  He shrugs her off, stumbles, sees a group of people ahead.  Most of them are African, people who live here, who’ve seen their families and friends and comrades disappear before their eyes.  They’re gathering supplies, belongings, bringing them into the center of the city where there’s a huge complex.  They’re retreating into it, the few remaining denizens of this place.  And among them…

 _Thor.  Banner.  Rhodey._   Some weird talking, walking raccoon with a gun?  All of them are working to help carry the items into the complex.  Not just a complex.  A palace.  And a figure is standing to the side, hefting a huge crate of food and calling out orders.  A figure in a black tac suit.  Tony would recognize that suit no matter what color it’s been dyed.  And he’d recognize that posture, the set of the shoulders and the curve of the back and the narrow hips and tall stance, anywhere.  And when the man turns…

“Tony?” Steve whispers.  He drops the box in shock, and it lands with a heavy thud, breaking open and sending fruit rolling everywhere.  “Tony…”

Tony stops.  Stares.  Steve’s dirty, bruised, bloody.  His hair’s grown out, long and a little shaggy.  His beard is a little shaggy, too, and unkept, a tad bushy where it frames his strong jaw and full lips.  Those fall open in shock and alarm.  His eyes go wide, brilliantly blue in the daylight.  “Oh, my God…  _Tony_.”

It’s been so long, forever, and everything’s changed, but those eyes…

Tony gasps a sob, staggering as fast as he can across the courtyard.  He ignores the other people calling to him, runs, stumbles, falls forward because the world’s going dark and the pain’s rushing back and he’s bleeding and _bleeding–_

Steve catches him.  Tony collapses into his chest, and Steve’s arms close around him.  Steve’s sturdy and powerful and _there_ – not gone, not dead, not _ash_ – and Tony can hear his heart beating.  Somehow he can.  “God, Tony…  Tony, you’re alive!  How…  What – Tony?  You’re bleeding – Tony!”

He is bleeding.  He’s bleeding horridly, inside and out.  But he doesn’t care.  Steve’s got him.  Steve gasping, panicking, lowering him to the ground and pressing hard on his side.  He doesn’t even feel the pain.  “We need medical!” Steve screams, panic in his voice. “I need help!  Tony, hang on.  Just hang on, please.  _Help!_ ”

He doesn’t need to hang on, not anymore.  After two years and countless hells, Steve’s got him.  He lets go, knows it’s okay, because Steve’s here, and Steve’s got him, and Steve knows what to do.  Tony knows that.

And now he knows he’s home.

* * *

Tony never imagined the end of world would have a day after.

But it does.  It has many in fact.  And he opened his eyes to one, to a place filled with sleek white surfaces and soft shadows.  He’s laying flat on his back.  There’s equipment off the side and monitors flashing with information.  He spends a minute taking it in, idly realizing this technology is _amazing,_ maybe even more than what he can create.  He stares in detached confusion, wondering where he is, wondering what’s going on and how he got here, wondering how he’s still alive.  It takes a bit of courage, but he raises a hand, stares at his clean fingers, and then runs them down his chest to his side. He expects blood and pain, but there’s none.  There’s smooth flesh and soft cloth.  He’s dressed white hospital pajamas.  He’s clean and safe and whole.

It doesn’t seem possible, but he is.

A young woman approaches.  Her black hair looks messy, like it used to be in a careful arrangement atop her head but it’s been knocked loose and mussed and she hasn’t had time to fix it.  Her features are very fine, pretty, regal, and her eyes are deeply brown.  They’re filled with intelligence, but there’s also a great deal of sadness.  She’s been crying recently, Tony thinks.  There’s wetness that’s been wiped away.

Still, she smiles faintly.  “How are you feeling, Mr. Stark?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that.  He’s fine.  He really is.  The wound that should have killed him, that was killing him, is gone.  There’s this odd, phantom sensation, like he can still _feel_ the agony and shock of Thanos stabbing him, but it’s just in his head.  His hand is touching only smooth, warm, whole skin where the wound was.  “I’m, uh…”  His brain functioning very well.  With a wince he sits up, expecting pain to find none.  “What happened?  Where…”

“You’re in Wakanda,” the young woman says.  She fiddles with a few of the monitors – holographic interfaces that put his best work to shame – and exhales slowly.  “Or what’s left of it.”

 _Wakanda._   The fog in Tony’s head doesn’t dissipate fast enough for him to piece anything together.  He just lays there, alarmed and reeling.  The young woman finishes her work and comes to stand at the foot of his bed.  “Do you feel you can stand?  Your friends have been waiting for you.”

Tony squints, reeling.  His friends.  _Steve._   “Yeah.  Yeah, I can.”

The young woman helps him slide off the table.  She seems hesitant, perhaps even a little afraid, but she supports his weight and leads him upward and out of what’s clearly a laboratory and medical ward.  This place is huge, and as they walk, Tony catches a few glimpses out of huge, clear windows.  They’re in the center of the city, and the view should be glorious, particularly with the sun setting over the savanna.

It’s not, though.  All he can see is an empty, vacuous metropolis, and beyond that wreckage.  Destruction.  The same wreckage and destruction through which he and Nebula walked.  He sees the breadth of it now, and it’s devastating.  He doesn’t know why.  He’s seen war, seen misery.  New York and DC and Sokovia.  Afghanistan.  Those, though…  They ended with victory.

This?  This is the consequence of failure.

“Come with me,” the young woman prods, and Tony tears his eyes from the window.  He follows her up the stairs, imagining it should be harder than it is, but he still feels alright.  That makes the guilt, the heavy, crushing _shame_ , so much worse.

They enter a large room that’s probably a conference area of sorts.  Tony’s shocked to see the rest of the team is here.  They’re gathered around a table that has multiple holographic displays going, and the second Tony enters the room, their quiet conversation dies.  Tony swallows, looking them over as they look back at him.  Thor, whose hair has somehow been shorn short and his one eyes appears odd and with a massive hammer Tony doesn’t recognize on his back.  Rhodey, who seems tired and bent with grief.  Bruce, who’s standing next to Natasha with a frown on his lips and worry in his eyes.  And Natasha.  Tony hasn’t seen her since the airport fight in Leipzig.  She’s dyed her hair blonde, and she seems very different from the Black Widow he used to know.  She’s watching him with that same hard gaze she used to have, though, one that’s not accusatory but not entirely accepting either.

They’re all here, all safe, but Steve’s not with them.  God, did Tony dream seeing him?  Did he dream Steve catching him?  Is Steve gone?  Is he…  “Rogers?” he blurts out, his voice hardly more than a strained murmur.

No one says anything for a terrible moment that goes on forever, but then his escort approaches the table.  “Resting,” she explains.  “Captain Rogers spent many hours at your side while we saved your life.  Your injuries were extensive, so it was a near thing.  He refused to leave until he knew you would recover.”

That doesn’t seem like it can be true, but suddenly memories dash from the darkness in his head.  Memories of Steve’s low voice, whispering solace and begging for Tony to stay with him.  Steve’s hands grasping his, holding bandages on his body, trying to stop the bleeding.  Steve’s eyes, wet and bright with terror.  Tony can’t catch his breath, overwhelmed.  He swallows through a dry throat.  “He’s okay?”  He doesn’t care it that betrays how he really feels.  He can’t care.  “Is he?”

Again, no one answers him.  There’s tension, and he’s not sure why, if it’s from what happened with the Accords, with Siberia, with how the team fell apart.  Maybe it’s from how this all turned out, like they _know_ Tony lost the fight with Thanos and him losing that fight sent the mad Titan to earth.  Like they know Strange sacrificed _half the universe_ to save his life.  That makes the guilt come back, and he almost sags under it, mind whirling anew, and _God, why why did you do that I’m not worth it I’m not worth any of them–_

There’s one of T’Challa’s guards; Tony doesn’t knew her personally but he recognizes the look of her from Berlin.  She comes around the end of the table.  “My queen,” she says to the young woman, “we are ready to discuss the defenses when you are ready.  Captain Rogers drafted good plans, and we should act on them as quickly as possible.  We also have the reports from other nations, those that can respond.  There is chaos worldwide.  The Avengers have–”

“Queen?” Tony whispers.

The young woman’s face crumples in grief, but she steels herself quickly with a deep breath.  She seems older, then, and wiser, and she comes closer to the table, waking past him with her head held high.  “I am ready to discuss it,” she declares.  She glances at Tony, still with so much suspicion, but it’s not blame.  It’s just hurt and devastation.  “I am Shuri, sister of T’Challa.”

Tony doesn’t want to put two and two together.  “T’Challa’s…”  _No._

T’Challa is gone.

“Tony,” Bruce says quietly, rushing over to grasp Tony’s shoulders.  Tony didn’t realize he was slumping in shock.  “Jesus, Tony, you shouldn’t be up.”

“No,” Tony whispers.  He shakes his head like he can object and make anything right by doing it.  “No, please…”

“Tony, you need to lie down,” Rhodey says.  “Easy.  Come on.”

Bruce shakes his head.  “We thought we lost you.  We thought…”  Horrified by what he’s learned, Tony looks over the group more carefully.  _No Wanda.  No Vision._   Tony’s mind skitters over those thoughts.  “Thank God you’re okay.  When that ship took you and Strange, I thought…  Thank God!”  Bruce is hugging him tightly. 

Then Rhodey hugs him, too, and Thor comes over and smiles wearily but fondly at him.  “I am grateful to see you live, Stark,” he rumbles, and he sounds so low it hurts.

Natasha holds back.  Tony pulls away from Rhodey and finds her appraising him.  There’s still lingering pain between them, hurtful words said in the wake of disaster.  Tony knows she’s been at Steve’s side the last two years, that there’s a bond between the two of them that’s deeper than friendship.  That’s family.  Brother and sister by choice, by love and respect.  “It’s good that you’re alright,” she says.  “We need you.”

“I need to see Cap,” Tony gasps in response, pulling away from Rhodey and Bruce.  He steps up to her, trembling and sweating and desperate.  “I need…  Where is he?  I need to see him.”

“Take it easy, Tony,” Rhodey says again, grabbing Tony’s shoulder in a friendly show of comfort and trying to keep him still.

“He’s alright,” Bruce swears.  “Cap’s fine.”

“No,” Tony replies, refusing to be placated.  He can’t be.  “No, I need to see him.  Right now.  I need to – I just need to see.”

“And he needs sleep,” Natasha replies evenly, dropping her arms from where they are folded across her chest.  “Let him have it.  It can wait.”

Emphatically, Tony shakes his head.  “N-no.  No, now.”

“He’s hardly had any in days,” Rhodey argues.  “He’s been leading everyone and running relief efforts and – Tony, wait.  Wait!”

Tony’s already walking away, blind with panic.  He heads to the exit.  If they won’t tell him, he’ll just search.  He’ll look through the entire palace if he has to, this palace that’s probably loaded to the brim with survivors and refugees and wounded.  That won’t deter him.  He’ll find Steve and he won’t stop until he does.  It’s not rational, but nothing’s right anymore.  Nothing is, and everything hurts, and he _needs_ Steve–

“Stark!”  Natasha’s right there behind him.  Apparently she chased him out of the conference room.  Her eyes are piercing, again laden with so much tense emotion that he can’t hardly bare to look at her.  They soften, though, as she beholds him, as she searches his own eyes.  He can only imagine how he looks, in hospital pajamas and barefoot, without a single thing to his name right now other than the fact that he’s alive.  That cold, indifferent mask melts.  “He’s in one of the rooms upstairs.”  Then she tells him which one.

Tony runs.  He takes a lift up, rushes through the hallways, frenzied enough that this maze of a palace makes no sense to his addled, frantic mind.  The place is indeed busy, filled with Wakandans reeling in the wake of the attack.  It should feel good to be among other people again, to hear voices and see faces even if they are tear-streaked and pale with horror.  He hardly notices.  He barely finds the room Natasha told him.  It’s down at the end of a stately, exclusive corridor.  Tony stops in front of the door, but it’s locked and doesn’t open for him.  There’s a holographic control beside it, but it doesn’t respond to him, either, and he’s too distressed to figure out how to work it.  Frustrated and nearly panicked, he raps on the door.  It’s stupid and pathetic, and if Steve is sleeping he won’t hear him, but he knocks and knocks.  “Cap?” he calls in a meek, frightened voice.  There’s no response.  Immediately his fears surge to the forefront, and his blood goes cold again.  God, every second of this nightmare…  He’s afraid Steve’s gone now.  Turned to ash.  Maybe it’s still happening, still ongoing.  Maybe Thanos hasn’t killed everyone at once.  Maybe he’s still taking people.  Maybe Steve’s…  “Rogers, open the door.  Please!”

It doesn’t open.  Tony strength gives out – maybe he’s not as strong and well as he thought – and he leans wearily into the door.  He closes his eyes.  All the times he should have called, texted, done something, _said_ something…  “Please…  Please answer me.”

The door opens so suddenly that he stumbles and falls forward.  He face-plants into something strong but soft and warm and smooth – _Steve’s chest_.  Instead of sinking forward, he staggers back, horrified.  Steve jolts and steps away, too.  “Jesus,” Tony mutters.  “Sorry.”

Steve doesn’t answer, wide-eyed and alarmed, and the room goes utterly silent.

This…  This is it.  They’re here, face to face.  After so much time, it feels impossible.  Tony exhales slowly.  Despite his panic before, all his thoughts about being better and stronger, about saying what needs to be said, he can’t summon the courage to even so much as look at Steve.  It takes a few long minutes before he can raise his gaze from the floor.  Even then, he can’t meet Steve’s gaze.

He feels Steve frown.  “Stark,” he says guardedly.

That’s not at all what Tony wants.  “Cap,” he lamely replies.

That frown gets deeper.  “You okay?  You shouldn’t be up.  You were really hurt.”  He says that like he wasn’t at Tony’s side, pleading and praying for his life.  Like he doesn’t think Tony knows.

Tony shakes his head, his thoughts tripping over themselves.  Uninvited he walks deeper into the suite.  It’s really nice, elegantly decorated with the same combination of advanced technology and African beauty.  Steve himself is – _God_ – bare-chested.  Tony can’t help a grimace and a blush.  _I had my face in that._   His embarrassment fades when he notices there’s ugly bruising all over Steve’s chest.  Deep bruising.  Tony sees that now and winces.  “Are _you_ okay?”

Now Steve blushes and quickly heads over to the bedroom.  He grabs his undershirt from there and quickly puts it on.  He’s still wearing his uniform pants, though he’s barefoot.  All the time they worked together, lived together at the Tower…  Tony’s never seen Steve this way.  This exposed.  “Yeah,” Steve breathed.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Took some hits.”

Those welts and bruises are from more than “some hits”.  Tony knows how well the serum heals Steve and how fast that process is.  For wounds like those to last…  God, he still doesn’t know how long it’s been since Thanos culled the universe, but he’s worried, spotting another huge bruise on Steve’s face that he hasn’t noticed before, seeing Steve limp back toward him.  Seeing the pallor of his skin and the grief in his hollowed-out, exhausted eyes.  He looks like he hasn’t slept in two years.  “Okay,” is all Tony says, though.

The room descends once more into a terrible, painful silence.  Tony’s not looking at Steve, and he can feel the sad fact that Steve’s not looking at him either.  Steve’s standing in the bedroom, and Tony’s maybe a half dozen feet away in the living area.  The tension between them – _always so goddamn much tension_ – seems immutable, unbreakable, and Tony wonders what the hell they’re doing.  After all this time, everything that’s happened, they _still_ can’t talk to each other.  All these things Tony’s longed to say for two years, when he held that phone in his hands and tortured himself…  _I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry I hurt you.  If I could, I’d go back.  I’d change it everything.  I love you.  I love you so much.  I should have told you!_   And the questions he wants to ask.  _Why’d you choose him over me?  Why’d you leave me?  Why don’t you love me?  Don’t you see how much I need you?  How much I need to be with you?_

Everything he’s wanted to say he just _can’t_.  The words won’t come and his mouth is frozen.  Steve’s not saying anything, either.  Of all the ways Tony’s dreamed their reunion might go, this most obvious and likely of scenarios has never occurred to him.  All his expectations for how things would play out, that it’d lead to reconciliation and understanding and forgiveness, that he could see Steve smile or hear him talk like they talked once or twice in the past…  Those moments Tony treasured returned to him with new life breathed into them.  Or more, maybe.  Maybe Steve would tell him he missed him, that he thought about him every waking moment like Tony has or dreamt about him every night like Tony did.  Maybe Steve would say he wants him, needs him.  _Loves him._

But none of those expectations are being met, and his heart’s breaking with disappointment.  He feels the need to speak just to end the silence.  “Romanoff said you were sleeping.”  It’s a dumb thing to say because it’s pretty obvious Steve wasn’t.

Steve frowns more.  Tony wonders if he’s forgotten how to smile.  “Yeah, I…  I couldn’t.”  That seems reasonable, given what’s happened.  Steve squints, giving a shaky sigh.  He’s staring at Tony like he’s trying to convince himself he’s really there.  Tony meets his gaze then, and everything comes to a sudden stop.  Maybe…  This is the first time they’ve looked at each other, _seen_ each other, in two years.  The first time since Steve drove his shield into Iron Man’s arc reactor, disabling the armor.  Tony still has nightmares about how it, about how he actually was scared that Steve would kill him, about how sick with pain, grief, and guilt he was because he was so out of control that the situation escalated to that unbelievable point.  That was the last time he saw Steve’s eyes, and they were filled with pain and grief and guilt, too.

They’re the same way now.  But Steve holds it back, straightens, and looks away.  “It’s good to see you, Tony,” he says in a soft voice.

Tony’s mouth is dry as a desert, and he feels exposed all over again, wearing just these stupid, flimsy pajamas.  Maybe that’s a dumb thing to be concerned about on the other side of the end of the universe, but it’s all he can feel.  Talking to Steve always brings his insecurities to the forefront.  He’s vulnerable and weak and not what he should be.

But are any of them what they should be now?  Steve looks so different, so… rundown and burdened and changed.  It’s not just the longer hair and the beard, which adds years and sorrow to his face and is about as far from the clean-cut image of Captain America as possible.  It’s not the bruises under that well-worn shirt or the bags under his empty eyes.  It’s not even the ripped and ragged pants hanging from his too-thin waist or the torn, damaged uniform top draped over the chair beside him and the boots that look worn thin.  He looks like he’s been on the run for two years.  He looks like a man who’s lost everything.

Everyone.  “Wilson?” Tony suddenly asks.

Steve’s chin trembles.  He bites his lower lip hard, digging his teeth into it.  For a second or two, he struggles in a way Tony’s never seen.  Then he shakes his head.  It’s hardly more than a jerk.  _God._   Tony knows how close Steve is to Sam.  Losing Sam…  Then anger wells up inside him, the same bitter anger that always comes when he thinks about Steve’s friends.  However, stronger than that is how he feels for Steve right now, for the immense grief he can see the younger man trying to restrain.  He can’t manage a drop of that resentment and rage, not in the face of that deep-set sorrow.  “Barnes?” he whispers.

That’s all it takes.  Suddenly Steve’s trembling harder, an all-body quaking, and he turns around gracelessly, almost staggering into the nearby chair.  His uniform top falls, and Tony can see now that the Kevlar mesh has holes in it where Steve’s been hit and maybe hurt before.  The star’s gone, the Avengers’ patches, too.  The fabric’s been mistreated and overused to the point where it’s failing.  It’s all falling apart.

Steve doesn’t pick up the fallen item.  Instead he grabs the chair as if he needs the support.  The lines of his shoulders are tense, like he’s fighting.  Fighting and losing the battle.

And Tony just watches.  Steve never responds to his question about Barnes, but the silence is answer enough.  It takes Tony back.  There’s thunder rumbling in his memories, that strange, awful sound that seemed to tickle his very soul.  Peter’s in his arms.  The kid’s scared to death, terrified, in pain, _apologizing,_ and then fading away to nothing.  The image feels burned into his mind, and he knows he’ll never forget it, the look on Peter’s young face as Thanos erased him like he was nothing.  Is that what Steve remembers, what he’ll never forget?  When Barnes turned into dust, fading before his very eyes?  Was he holding him when it happened like Tony held Peter, clutching tight like he has the strength to stop the unstoppable?

Isn’t that what this has been since the beginning?  Stopping the unstoppable?

“It’s my fault.”

Steve’s soft, low declaration pulls Tony from the hell of his memories.  He focuses, blinking through tears that have unbidden to his eyes and without his notice.  Steve’s right where he was seconds ago, leaning into the chair, staring out at the dying daylight.  Tony can’t see his face.  He doesn’t need to imagine what it looks like, the shock that’s dissipating in fits and spurts and exposing him to other things, like the anger and the sorrow and the frustration.  He knows because he’s feeling the same.

Steve shivers.  “I thought…  I always believed if we could just…  If we _stood together_ , fought together, we could face anything.  That if something like this came, we’d…”  His voice breaks.  He tips his head back and lets go of the chair.  His hands clench into fists at his sides.  “I should have listened to you.  You knew this was coming, and you were trying to stop it, and maybe if I’d signed the Accords–”

“No.”  Tony can’t defend himself.  Before, during Ultron’s attack, during the debate about the Accords, he was so sure, and he argued with Steve endlessly.  They both refused to budge, to concede, to abandon their beliefs for the sake of harmony.  Therefore, Tony’s certainty is the reason everything fell apart.  Both their certainties are.

How can he be certain of anything now?  “No,” he says again.

“Maybe if I had, the team would have been together, and the Avengers would have been able to take him on.”

“No, Cap, it wasn’t that simp–”

“I was so goddamn _stupid_ ,” Steve hisses like he hasn’t heard Tony at all.  “I told you this was the answer.  And when you asked what’d happen if we lost, I was so sure of myself.  You remember what I said, right?”  _Then we’ll lose together, too._   Steve grunts, disgusted with himself.  “We didn’t even do that.  We didn’t even lose together.  I was here, and you were there, and nothing either of us did mattered.  We both fought the way we wanted, the way we thought was best, and it didn’t matter at all.”

Tony can’t stand the pain.  “That’s not–”

Steve turns.  His eyes are bright with unshed tears.  He looks so young, so battered, so defeated.  “We were supposed to protect them!  All of them.  That’s our job, the reason we’re here.  The reason they…”  His voice breaks.  “The reason they made me.”

 _Jesus._   “You’re more than the serum, more than a…”  Tony stops, and his mind goes back to the shield at the complex, sitting in his closet.  That’s another thing he’s kept close when he should have let it go.  He should have put it in storage or at least in the Avengers’ armory.  The shield his father made.  _Captain America’s_ shield.  “I shouldn’t have told you to drop it.”  The words come fast, a tangled, tumble of them after two years of trying to hold them back.  “I shouldn’t have been so goddamn petty and vicious.  I was wrong.  You deserve it.  You’re _more_ than that shield!  And it wasn’t my place to–”

“I should have told you the truth!” Steve shouts.  Tony’s words die in his throat, and he meets Steve’s gaze anew to see the tears are still glistening, still pooling like he simply can’t let go.  “I should have been smarter, made myself see what Bucky did, made myself accept it.  I should have seen everything for what it was, been strong enough to be _honest_.  You deserved me handling it better–”

“I don’t deserve a damn thing–”

“If I had, we’d have been together.  We’d have been together,” Steve says breathlessly, and now he starts pacing.  He’s rattled to his core, shaking like crazy, and Tony’s eyes burn seeing him like this.  Seeing him this emotional, this shaken, this _broken._   “And if we’d been together, it could have gone differently.  We could have stopped him.  We could have found a way.  You – you’re our best defender.”  Tony goes cold at the complement.  There’s a wild glaze to Steve’s eyes, but he can tell the younger man is nothing but sincere.  “You are.  And they took you off earth so we didn’t have you, but maybe if we’d been together, they wouldn’t have been able to.  The Avengers – we would have been ready for this because you could get us ready.  We would have been ready and then he never would have gotten those stones, never done what he did, never–”

Tony can’t stand it anymore.  He crosses the distance between them and grabs Steve’s arm.  It feels weird to touch him like this, a sharp contradiction to the violence framing their last substantive contact, but he doesn’t let that put him off.  He can’t.  And he makes Steve stop.  “No,” he says again, his voice shockingly even and firm. “There wasn’t anything we could have done.”

Steve shakes his head.  With all that enhanced strength, he could easily break Tony’s grip and yank his arm away, but he doesn’t.  He’s quivering still and barely breathing.  “You don’t know that.”

“I do know it,” Tony counters.  “He’s…”  _Insane.  All powerful.  Determined.  Bigger and stronger.  Beyond any of us._   “Beyond _all_ of us.”  Steve raises his gaze and finally meets Tony’s again.  “Whether we were together or apart…  I don’t think it would have made any difference.  Accords, no Accords, whether or not you signed and we kept the team whole…  This was coming, and everything we had, everything I planned for, that you planned for, everything we could do…  It was never going to be enough.”  Steve’s jaw flexes.  He’s grinding his teeth.  His eyes are still full of angry tears.  Tony nods, more to himself than to Steve.  “You know I’m right, Cap.  Look at what happened.  We were utterly doomed.”

“No,” Steve argues, shaking his head.

“We were never going to stand against him.  Even Ultron…  Even if he’d worked, Ultron would have probably just a toy to him.  He could have unmade him just like that.”

That’s horrifying, to think a foe that nearly ended humanity, that the Avengers barely beat, would have been a fly to swat to Thanos.  Their best defenses, crushed.  Steve swallows and adds in a low tone, “Thor said he killed Loki.  Just like that.  Choked him to death in just a few seconds, and Loki never landed a hit.”

For some reason, that makes Tony ache inside.  Loki was a bastard, no doubt about it, and their nemesis, but Thor loves him despite it all.  Plus Loki is the reason the Avengers formed to begin with.  They won that fight because they fought as a team.  That just serves as another example of a moment where they were united and victorious, rather than divided and defeated.

But, again, it wouldn’t have mattered.  It feels weird to be thinking that, to be trying to convince Steve that they did all they could.  Tony’s typically tearing himself apart for his mistakes.  He knows he will for this for a long time, too.  This isn’t absolution.  It’s just logic.  “There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

Again Steve doesn’t seem to hear him.  He sighs wearily.  It sounds mixed up with a sob.  “I had it in my hands,” he murmurs, leaning into the chair once more.  “He was right in front of me, going for Vision, and I had that glove of his in my hands.  I was pushing him back with everything I had, and for one second…  I thought I could do it.”  _Jesus._   Tony goes cold in shock.  Steve held him back?  With five Infinity Stones in the gauntlet?  How could he be so strong?

How could they have _lost_ with so much strength behind them?

Steve shakes his head, weeping as he goes on.  “I was keeping him there.  Buying Wanda the time she needed to destroy the Mind Stone and stop him.  I thought it’d be enough.”  He bites his lip hard.  “And it was.  She did it.  But he…  I don’t even know what he did!  Turned back time, I guess, and took it anyway.  I couldn’t stop that. Didn’t even see it coming.”

“Steve,” Tony says, and it’s the first time he’s called Steve by his first name in forever.  Even before Siberia and Accords, he never called Steve that.  It was always “Cap” or “Rogers” or any number of teasing nicknames that Steve may not have construed as teasing.  The way Steve’s name feels on his tongue, how it tastes, even now when the hints of blood and ash are lingering on his palette…  It’s right.  It feels good.  “Steve, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It damn well was,” Steve returns hotly.  “It was.”

“My guys had him immobilized, half unconscious, and Parker and I were _this close_ to pulling that goddamn glove off his fist,” Tony declares tensely.  “We didn’t.  Shit went wrong, and we failed, too.  We _all_ failed.”

Steve keeps shaking his head and finally pulls his arm away.  “No, you don’t understand.  I – I promised Buck…  I told him we’d be okay.  And then I just…  I watched him leave me again,” he moans, and his voice is tremoring something fierce.  “I watched him get taken.  Again.  I just got him back, _him_ after all this time and everything they did to him, and I watched him dissolve into nothing, and I – I…”

Tony swallows down his pain.  It doesn’t matter how he feels about Barnes.  Steve obviously loves him.  Barnes is his friend.  His brother.  And he lost him _again._   Tony’s thought once or twice in the past couple of years about how the entire situation with the Winter Soldier probably made Steve feel.  Tried to put himself in Steve’s shoes, and it was never easy.  Now he can really see it, just how deep this wound goes.  It runs down to Steve’s core, and he’s bleeding out, sure as if Thanos stabbed him, too.  “I’m sorry,” Tony hears himself murmur.  He doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologizing for.  Everything.  All of it.

That seems to comfort Steve some, or he pulls himself back from the brink by his own grit and determination.  Tony wonders how many times he’s had to do that in his life.  Many.  More than anyone deserves to.  He’s wiping at his eyes, wiping his face vigorously even though it’s got to hurt with that nasty bruise on his temple and down his cheek.  He shakes his head, sucking in a heavy breath.  “Everything between us, the Accords and your parents’ murders and what your father did and us not getting along…  That’s what doesn’t matter.  All of that.  And you could be right; everything could have been perfect with us, perfect with the team, and we probably still would have lost.  I get that, Tony.  I do.  But we’ll never know for sure.”

“No,” Tony concedes in a quiet tone.  “No, we won’t.”

Steve suffers with that a second.  He’s stiff, shaking anew, and it’s clear he wanted something else other than the truth.  He wanted Tony to argue with him.  Tony can’t.  He doesn’t have it in him to debate and bicker and fight anymore.  And it’s becoming more and more obvious that Steve…  He doesn’t know what to do.  The whole trip back from Titan, where Tony was desperate and delirious and dying in that ship…  All he dreamt was that Steve would have a plan.  Steve always has a plan.  And Steve would still be strong and stubborn and calmly serious.  Steve’s so smart, so brave, _so strong,_ strong enough to hold back a Titan with the power of the universe behind him.  Maybe a god by all rights, fighting against other gods, but one made of human flesh and bones and a human soul.  Steve…  Steve would _know_ what to do.

It’s clear he has no idea.  It’s clear he can’t even try.  Tony feels something of a bastard for putting so much weight on the younger man, even if it was only in his own head and heart.  Underneath the serum and the mantle of Captain America, Steve _is_ just human.  He’s just human, a kid turned into a soldier, and he has demons and traumas and nightmares of his own.  Tony’s never let himself _see_ that before, because Steve’s got his own masks, and they’re damn good ones.  They always have been, fooled everyone into thinking this young man always has the right answers, always picks himself up and fights on.  That he’s untouchable, unstoppable.  Invincible.

But they’ve been stripped away.  Standing here in the sunset with his tattered uniform off and his shield gone and his body bruised and his heart broken, the weight of everything that’s gone wrong in his life crushing him…  The suffering is all Tony can see.

That’s what makes the answer come easy. That and love. “The thing is, though…  We’re together now.”

Steve sniffles again.  He turns and meets Tony’s eyes.  It’s hard – so damn hard – after everything to be okay, but Tony’s trying.  He’s trying for his sake, for Steve’s sake.  “We’re still alive, you and me,” he says.  “That has to be for a reason.”

“It’s…”  Steve looks sick and turns away.  “It’s random.  Thor said–”

“It’s for a reason,” Tony corrects.  “I know that’s weird coming from me, but…  I just know it.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know how.  But you and I are here together because we’re supposed to be.  We’re going to fix this.  We’re…  Yeah, we’ve made mistakes.  Serious ones.  And we failed here.  We failed hard.  I can’t – I can’t tell you how much it hurts me that we did.  I don’t blame you.  I don’t even blame myself.  I can’t.  Not now.  That doesn’t help us now.  You’re the one…”  He swallows the lump in his throat.  “You’re the one who taught me that.  You taught me that we’re soldiers.  And you’re the one who taught me that the best thing we can do is choose to keep fighting when the consequences of our mistakes are killing us inside.”

“I didn’t–”

“You did.  And you’re right, Steve.  We’re the Avengers.  We’re not a strike team.  We’re a response team.  We’re meant to defend earth.  And we have to keep doing that even after the worst has happened.”  It’s hard to say this, too, hard to believe it, but he has to.  He has to be the one who’s certain now.  “Even after we’ve lost.”

Steve’s eyes well even more.  “Tony…”

“We’re together now,” Tony says again.  “And we’ll keep going.  You and me.  I don’t…  Faith’s been a hard thing for me before.  I built Ultron and signed the Accords and did all that because I don’t have faith in myself.  I didn’t have faith in us to do the right thing or to be good enough to keep people safe.  I was wrong.”  His voice cracks, too, but he doesn’t stop.  “I was so wrong, Steve.”

“You’re smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, Tony.  If anyone was wrong, it was me.  _I_ was wrong.”

Tony actually laughs.  It sounds weird, misplaced, but it _feels_ good.  Like there can be something between them other than pain and sorrow.  Like scars really can heal, no matter how much they hurt.  “So we’re going to argue about this, too?  We can’t even reconcile without fighting?”  Steve smiles a little.  It’s hardly anything, just a tiny twist of his lips, but it’s so damn beautiful.  “I want…”  Tony stops himself.  He wants so much.  All of it.  Everything.  But for now…  “I want us to be a team again.”

And he reaches out his hand.

Steve blinks, and a tear finally escapes his eye.  He stares at what Tony’s offering, eyes moving between Tony’s outstretched fingers and Tony’s face.  It seems for a second this tentative bridge between them won’t be crossed.  But he lifts his hand and takes Tony’s.  His grip is firm, and it feels so good to touch him like this.  Good, but not enough.  Not nearly enough.

And it isn’t for Steve, either.  Steve gasps a soft sob and pulls him forward, wraps his arms around him, hugs him tight.  Tony’s shocked for a second but only that, and he melts into Steve’s embrace, the huge breadth of his arms, the sturdiness of his chest, the smell of clean sweat and the heat of skin.  “I want that.  I want you to trust me again and be my – my…  I need you to stay with me!” Steve whispers desperately into his ear.  His fingers are like iron, pressing bruises into Tony’s back.  Once more Tony can’t begin to care.  “I can’t lose you.  Not again.  All this time, I couldn’t…  You’re all I thought about.”  Tony squeezes his eyes shut at the mess of pleasure-pain cascading across his nerves.  “I felt so bad.  And when I saw you there, that he didn’t take you, too…  I don’t deserve you back, but I want you with me.  I can’t lose you!  They’re gone, all gone _again_ , and I–”

“You won’t,” Tony promises.  This time he can really hear Steve’s heart beating.  He swears he can.  “Never.  I’m here.”

“I’m scared.”  The soft admission finally comes.

Tony gasps a sob into Steve’s shoulder.  “Me, too.”

Steve’s shivering harder, and Tony can feel how he’s breaking with exhaustion, with the weight of being their captain.  Even without the shield and a tattered, black uniform, he’s still their captain.  “I don’t know…  Everyone’s lookin’ to me to lead, and I don’t know – I can’t – I…”  Tony runs his hands up and down Steve’s back in a comforting sweep.  “I don’t know what to do!”

“What you need to do,” Tony says, pulling away, and maybe it’s wrong and too forward, but he cups Steve’s face and looks into his eyes.  Those brilliant blue eyes that have all that power behind them.  They’re dark with fear and pain and so much fatigue.  “What you need to do right now is sleep.  Everyone can wait.  Sleep, and we can start fresh tomorrow.  It’ll be a new day.”

Steve doesn’t pull away.  He just closes his eyes, and his hands cup Tony’s face, too.  It’s timid, and it’s fearful, but it’s wanting.  Tony can feel it.  “I can’t.  I can’t stop thinkin’.  Bucky goin’ like that…  It’s all I can see.”

Tony melts into his touch.  “I know.  Me, too.  But don’t remember it now.  Don’t think.  Just don’t.  Not now.”

“I don’t…”  Steve bites his lip, and now he’s really wavering.  Tony can’t stop a light caress of his thumb across Steve’s bruised cheek.  “I just…  We have to get them all back!”

“We will.”  There’s not a doubt in Tony’s mind.  He braces their foreheads together.  “We will!”

“I don’t know how!  I don’t know!  What’ll we do, Tony?” Steve whispers.  “How can we beat him?”

Tony knows.  He knows the answer.  He _knows._   And he pulls Steve close, kisses him softly, and whispers, “Together.”

* * *

Dawn comes.

Steve sleeps unbothered through the night.

So does Tony.  He cracks open his eyes to the sun rising over the mountains in the distance.  It’s peeking just a bit at first, casting tentative, meek golden light across the world.  But it gets bolder, brighter, climbing higher and driving away the shadows, because the next day is coming.  It always will.  Even with all the power of the cosmos in his palm, with time at his disposal, Thanos didn’t stop that.

And Thanos can’t stop them.

Tony feels warm and well.  He’s propped up just a bit in the bed, Steve tucked against him, secure and safe in his arms.  The sunlight pours through the window and washes over them both, and he looks down.  Steve’s calm, peaceful, deeply slumbering with not a hint of pain or distress on his face.  His body is warm and firm and heavy against him.  His blue eyes are closed, hidden as he dreams.  His hands are curled around Tony, holding tight.  And his lips are turned in what could be a hint of a contented smile.

God, this is what Tony’s dreamed, what he’s wanted.  What he’s needed.  This is everything.  He knows he’s not alone.  He knows it now, and he knows he never will be again.

Carefully he cards a hand through Steve’s hair, watching him breathe slowly and evenly against his neck, memorizing every detail, committing this perfect moment to memory.  He has to, because time doesn’t stand still.  In a few minutes, maybe an hour, they’ll get up, go back out there, stand side by side and lead what remains of the Avengers and anyone else willing to fight.  They’ll find a way to survive and save the people who’ve been taken from them, Peter and Bucky and Sam, _all of them,_ and bring them back.  They’ll find a way to defend earth and to stop Thanos.  They’ll find a way to make everything right.  He knows they can.  It’ll be hard and dark and difficult.  It’ll be the toughest battle of their lives, and it will require them both to give everything they have and more.

Tony feels ready, and he is, and he wants to get started.  For now, though, he gives this moment to the person he loves, caressing Steve’s hair, brushing his lips across Steve’s brow, letting him know he’s not alone, either.  Letting him breathe and sleep and have a chance at peace.  It may be the last for a while.

That’s okay, though.  They can handle this.  As Avengers and teammates, as friends, as whatever they can become together…  They can handle anything.  This a first step, a first move.  It’s _their_ end game, and it’s more powerful than anything Thanos can throw at them.

Because, just like that, they have hope.

**THE END**


End file.
